O God, our lives are made of such little bits of bread. The prayers we offer appear as crumbs in the face of a world starving from indifference and too little mercy. And our hands, busied by the clock, feel heavy from churning emptiness.
We want our living to be more than a feast on our own table, while scraps clog the drain in the sink, (and still our own cup overflows!)
The squirrel searches the same earth every day for browny crowned treasures, and finds them. The geese fly miles in one direction each November, and always land at home. Meanwhile, the bear sleeps winter away with no thought of honey or salmon, trusting spring will set the table and ring the breakfast bell once again.
O God, we confess, our problem is not that we possess only crumbs, but that we might not care to share even our crumbs. Or we do not see what the dogs see. While someone else sweeps the floor for us.
You who broke bread and called it your own body, break us open today, and then break us again, until we are like crumbs— leftovers of joyful discovery, bits of grace for the poor and all who thought there would be no love left for them.
This we pray for the sake of the child who grew to become abundant Bread of Life, crying out, I thirst, Amen.
PleaseGrace 